Say what?
by La coeur a ses raisons
Summary: Psych fluff, Shules pairing. Juliet's father is coming to town, and Jules doesn't know why. What happens when a misunderstanding is perpetuated?
1. Psychic, Pizza, Pineapple

Junior Detective to the Santa Barbara Police Department Juliet O'Hara drummed her fingers on her desk, pursing her lips. She was focused on the details of the case in front of her, wanting a distraction.

Her father was due to arrive in the SBPD station, and she was nervous as a cat in a rocking chair factory.

Her peripheral vision picked up the people milling around the station, and she really wished she could focus better… or just have the day finished already. She wasn't looking forward to the meeting with her dad, which was odd because in general she was a daddy's girl. She knew from her father's tone during their telephone conversation that, whatever he was going to tell her, it wasn't going to be good.

She felt a slight jar, and knew Shawn Spencer, the one and only 'psychic detective' for the SBPD, was leaning on the wood.

"Hey, Jules," he greeted her. "What's up?" She could feel him craning his neck to see the file. "Ooh… is that a case? Can I help?"

It was just the thing she needed; Shawn always had a way of bringing a smile to her face. His boundless bounding enthusiasm- a constant stream of annoyance to her partner, Head Detective Carlton Lasister- was a source of rejuvenation to her flagging spirits.

She looked up abruptly, and realized he was examining her face; there could be no other explanation for the fact that she found herself in an eye-lock with his hazel pools of mischief. She shrugged. "It's a case, Shawn."

He took the opportunity to snag the file, and glance through the documents. "Cold case," he said, surprised. "Weird." He looked Juliet in the eye again. "Jules, you're not going into the cold case division, are you? That would totally suck. They spend all day down in records, hoping against hope for an overlooked lead. Jules, you need sunlight!"

She laughed. "No, Shawn, I'm… I just kinda want to use my brain a little more; something more than tracking down the thief who just sold all the stolen stereo equipment at the neighborhood pawn shop. It can get boring."

Shawn nodded sagely, then looked back down at the file. "So why this case?" He flipped a page, still addressing her. "It's 35 years old…" he looked at Juliet. "Seriously? You're working a case that's been unsolved for longer than either of us has been alive."

Juliet shrugged. "Mental exercise. It's been slow in Santa Barbara lately."

"Jules, you know I can tell if someone's not telling the truth…" he faltered. "I mean, you were telling the truth, but it wasn't the truth, just sorta the truth…" he paused. "You know what? I'm gonna let you tell me why you're looking into cold cases and have spent each night this week eating Chow Mein- or Lo Mein as it's called in the Midwest- and pizza at your desk, rather than having fun."

Juliet frowned. "Wait… how'd you know…Shawn, seriously. How did you do that?"

Shawn smiled at her. "I didn't have to be a psychic to see the soy sauce packets in your trash can, the pizza napkins sticking out of your desk drawer, and the little pieces of paper from fortune cookies that have gone up since I was in last Monday… come on, Jules." He bobbed his head. "Plus, there might be the fact that all your paperwork is caught up on, and your in-tray is empty. No biggie."

"And you caught all that in the time before you snagged my file?"

Shawn shrugged. "What can I say? It's a gift." He set the manila folder down. "So, who're you trying to impress? Lassie? Seriously, Jules, please say no."

Juliet laughed. "No, not Detective Lassiter, Shawn."

He sighed in emphatic relief. "Thank you!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in celebration. He returned to a mock-serious pose and tilted his head. "So, if not Lassie, then who?"

Juliet bit her lower lip, then smiled. "You're the psychic. You tell me."

She raised her eyebrows at him in a mild challenge. He narrowed his eyes in amusement, as if deciding whether or not to 'bob and weave' to avoid the question. "May I ask one question?" he asked, one eyebrow up theatrically.

"You already did, but why not another?"

"Cool… are you going to put on lipstick?"

Juliet snorted. "No. I'm already wearing lipstick."

Shawn smiled. "Okay. Fine. I have a deal for you."

Juliet tilted her head. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I'll solve your cold case and tell you the reason that you've vacuumed your desk if you agree to split a pizza with me."

"Sounds good, but how about a time limit to make it interesting?"

"Great. I'll tell you both the secrets by Noon."

Jules was about to agree, but glanced at the office clock. "Shawn, that's in 15 minutes."

"Jules, please. Your father isn't going to arrive for another two hours, and I need to phone the pizza parlor to have them deliver lunch."

"One Hour fifty minutes," she corrected him, looking at the clock. She'd been willing time to speed up, to accelerate, so she could stop waiting for her father to arrive. Then Juliet froze. "Okay, how'd you do that?" When he didn't respond, she narrowed her eyes at him. "Seriously. How'd you know?" She hadn't told anyone her father was coming, yet somehow, Spencer had guessed it, and solved the first half of their wager.

Shawn grinned. "Trade secrets, Jules. I don't ask you how you get your badge so spiffy, do I?"

"You probably already know that."

Shawn nodded. "Dilute White Vinegar and a special toothbrush."

O'Hara shook her head, "Fine. I give you that one. And you guessed it was my dad." Shawn scoffed, Juliet continued. "But you still have to solve the case." She'd been staring at the evidence for the past five hours. She was fairly certain that even Shawn couldn't solve it in fifteen minutes.

"Jules," he admonished her, "You can't rush the psychic process. Do that, you get crappy readings. Trust me on this one."

She smirked at him, and turned back to the report when he winked at her.

"Okay, let's start again," she muttered under her breath, returning to the report. "Johann Metsworth, age 41, was stabbed with an un-recovered weapon. Forensics indicates it was a spiky, square object that left an acidic residue… great…" Juliet sighed, and rubbed at her eyes. She'd forgotten there was a reason she didn't go for cold cases. She liked to interview witnesses for herself. Unfortunately, most of them were dead by now.

There was a faint 'clunk' to her right, and the smell of coffee reached her nostrils. She looked up to see Shawn. The pseudo-psychic was looking at her with sympathy. "You looked like you could use it," he told her quietly.

Juliet looked down and saw a cup of steaming coffee at her elbow. She smiled gratefully at Shawn, and inhaled deeply. "Thanks," she told him sincerely, taking a sip. It was delicious. The blonde looked at the PI, and frowned.

"Something wrong, Jules?"

"It tastes great," she pointed out, confused.

"Ah," Spencer said, still acting comically, "And you thought it would taste like the average burnt cup of joe you get around here… do you like it?"

Juliet nodded enthusiastically, and took another sip. "It's great. What's your secret?"

Shawn shook his head, and wagged his finger at her. "You should know better than to ask that, Jules."

"Shawn, it's just coffee."

He tilted his head. "Hm…"

"Come on," Juliet said, batting her eyelashes, "Please?"

"Jules!" Shawn exclaimed, "Are you trying to bait me into giving away my secret?"

"No," she answered, still flirting.

"Well, I would tell you," Shawn said conspiratorially, "But if I told you how I made coffee, then you'd have no use for me whatsoever…" he frowned. "Well, that's not entirely true, I guess. I could always learn to fetch and carry files… slip love notes into your locker, ask you out to the policemen's ball…"

Juliet laughed. "What is this, High School?" She looked at the clock. "Okay, Shawn, you have five minutes in which to solve the cold case. And I really want to see how you do this."

Shawn shrugged, and gently tugged the file from Juliet's hands. He glanced through it quickly, intently. Juliet made note of how he examined the pages, taking in everything. He looked up two minutes later. "Got it," he said simply.

Juliet raised an eyebrow. "Just from the file?"

Shawn shrugged.

"Okay, right. Prove it."

Shawn gaped at her in mock incredulity. "You doubt me, Jules?"

"You said you copied my personality questionnaire. That means that you cheated and therefore I have every right to doubt you."

Shawn appeared as though he was about to say something about that, but changed his mind. "Fine." He handed O'Hara the file. "Take a look at the crime scene photos."

Juliet flipped to the pages. Shawn leaned over her shoulder, and flipped a few over. He pointed out the angle of the body, where the wound was. "See that?" he asked, "The way his hand is set? That's not a happy hand."

"Huh?"

"The bruises, Jules. The positioning and the bruises. The guy fought, and post-mortem, his hand was aligned into that cramped position… you read the coroner's report. That hand was the first to be released from rigor mortis, but the rest of the body took a lot longer. The rigor was broken… and that changes everything, y'see?"

"Other than changing murder to manslaughter, I don't get it, Shawn. His hand was weak. Great. Now what?"

"Did you see the marks on the palm?"

"What?"

Shawn flipped forward several pages to a small photo. "Check it out, Jules. He was holding a bank statement."

"Those numbers are tiny. How can you be sure?"

"The format. It looks just like the statement the bank always sent my dad… just inverted." When she raised her eyebrows at him, Spencer shrugged. "The spirits pointed out the similarities, Jules! And they said that it didn't match up with what was in the victim's hand."

"Metsworth was recovered with a stripper's number on a piece of stationary. The butler said he wrote it down and gave it to Metsworth… Shawn, are you saying the butler did it?"

Shawn abruptly made the 'touchdown' gesture. "Yes!"

"But… Shawn, come on. He was covering for Mr. Metsworth, taking a message."

"On stationary, Jules? Come on, that stuff was expensive. It's not the sort of stuff you keep next to a phone… more like in a closed roll-top desk waaaay in the back. It's the stuff you use to write a request for a girl's hand on. And seriously? The stripper's number wasn't even current."

"Where'd you pick up that info?"

"It's in the fine print, Jules. Check the wording in the report."

"Great. What about a murder weapon?"

"Jules, he's a _butler_. He has time to wipe everything down… and that's what he did." He pulled out another picture- the photograph of the room. "See anything like the murder weapon?"

Juliet sighed. How could she have missed that? How could the detectives on the case miss it? "The coroner said he was killed with a spiky square object… something that left acidic residues."

"Jules? I'm getting that you should look for something brass… like your shield… the… the polish…"

Juliet looked at Spencer, amused by his act. It was cute, the way he played for her attention. Without looking at the photos, she smiled at him. "The only thing brass in that photo was the flag-pole top. And it was checked by forensics, there was no blood anywhere on it. Besides, they tested the chemical properties and it turned up basic."

Shawn groaned. "Jules, we just established that the butler had time and means to wipe it down with bleach. Remember? He said to the detectives that he was polishing when he heard the sound of a struggle. The detectives assumed it was silver. What if it was brass?"

"You think he was polishing the murder weapon while calling the police?" she asked, incredulous. "Shawn, come on. He's a butler, not a sociopath."

Shawn raised an eyebrow. "What, in this day of equal opportunities, you can't be both?" he shook his head, then waved his hands emphatically. "That's not the point. The point is, he was the only one in the house, claimed not to hear anything other than a struggle… plus, look at the bank records, Jules. They're in the file. Metsworth's savings slowly decreased over the two years preceding his death. He had no serious habits, and the stocks he had were actually doing well. There was no reason for the amount to be decreasing."

"So, what?" She puzzled. "The butler embezzles from Metsworth's savings, Metsworth confronts him, the guy stabs him with a flag pole, pulls the bank statements out of the guy's hand, and wipes everything down before calling the cops? Come on, Shawn. That's a bit far-fetched."

Shawn shrugged. "Jules, check it out. The dude disappeared afterwards. No forwarding address, no later notification of employment, no taxes, no tax returns, nothing. This guy vanishes, leaving nothing behind but an empty bank account and a dead body."

"Wait, was that in the report?" She quickly shuffled through the pages, glancing at each one.

"Jules, you're missing the point. The butler _was_ polishing. He was polishing the spike on the flag when his boss confronted him about the embezzlement. That's why there was an acidic residue; vinegar has acetic acid. It's what makes it smell so gross… or, in the case of apple cider vinegar, it's what makes the vinaigrette so tangy. At any rate, they had what you police-folk call an," Shawn made air quotes, " 'altercation', and he covered up the murder."

Juliet stared at Shawn, whose cell phone rang. He pulled the phone from his pocket, and grinned at her. The display showed an alarm time: 12:00.

Shawn looked up, enthused. "Ooh! Pizza's here! I hope you like extra pineapple, Jules."

Juliet continued to stare at the psychic as he practically ran down the byways of the police station in hot pursuit of a delivery boy who seemed to think Shawn was mildly crazy.

If she hadn't figured out otherwise (shortly after their first meeting), she might have been tempted to agree. But now, months later, she knew that if he stopped pretending to be psychic, if he stopped working with the SBPD, her existence would be a lot less cheerful, a lot more stressed, and a lot less fun.

Juliet liked Shawn, and all his antics. He just never asked her to admit it, and she never asked him why.

Shawn whooped and jumped, two pizza boxes in his arms as he approached her desk. Juliet laughed, and tried not to collapse in mirth as Spencer pointed to the boxes, and mouthed 'pineapple' to Lassiter.

The salt-and-pepper detective rolled his eyes, and shook his head. "Hey, Jules," Shawn whispered, "You think that if I timed it just right, I could land a pineapple chunk in Lassie's coffee?"

"With or without cheese?" she asked conspiratorially.

Shawn grinned, and shrugged.

Having Shawn around was good, Juliet decided firmly as he opened up the pizza box, inhaling deeply. He bowed theatrically to Jules, and offered her the first slice.

O'Hara winked at him, and picked up a wedge almost dripping with cheese and pineapple pieces. She contemplated the gooey goodness as she bit into it.

Shawn at the police station was kind of like pineapple on pizza. At first, it seemed illogical, completely ill-suited, and ill-fated. But then, one took a bite of the results. There was a sweetness in the combination that wasn't expected, but brought out so much flavor that one never knew existed before.

"What do you think?" Shawn asked, after swallowing.

The blonde detective smiled at him. "It's great, Shawn. I love the pineapple."

Shawn grinned at her, and took another bite. "Later," he told her once he'd swallowed, "we're going to see if Lassie likes pineapple in his coffee. If I make the mug, we're going out to dinner."

Juliet grinned. "And if you miss?"

Shawn opened his mouth, affronted. "Me? Miss? Jules, that hurt."

Juliet shrugged and helped herself to another slice. She definitely liked pineapple.


	2. Daddy Dear

Shawn pitched the remaining greasy pizza napkins in the trash while Juliet cleared her desk of all matters food. "So, Jules," he said to the blonde detective, "Why's your dad coming down to Santa Barbara?"

Juliet shrugged, confused. "I don't know, it's weird. Dad just called me out of the blue and told me he was coming for a visit."

Shawn frowned, thinking. "Did you call your mom to find out why?"

Jules chuckled "Yeah. I didn't get any help from her. She just clammed up. She said he had his reasons and to make sure he picked up some peaches on the way back." Juliet grinned. "Mom makes a mean peach cobbler, and she knows how good the Santa Barbara peaches are."

The pseudo-Psychic raised an eyebrow, still in contemplation. "Yeah…" he murmured, "Weird…" He quickly dropped the pensive expression, and smiled. "We should make sure we send him on his way with a pineapple, too."

Juliet laughed. Shawn loved his pineapple, and went out of his way to share that passion with the rest of the world, too. It was an interesting personality quirk.

"Well, come on," she said, straightening and letting her feet take her weight again, "You took over that cold case from me, the least you can do is help me bring up the boxes from the file room."

"Why, Detective," Shawn answered, his characteristic smirk in place, "Are you asking me to go to the stacks with you?"

Juliet laughed. "Right, Shawn. Like I'm going to do that in the police department… you of all people should know that by now." She walked airily off towards the records department, and after a few moments, Shawn jogged after her.

"Jules? Seriously? I wasn't serious…"

She paused at the door to the records room, and tilted her head. "Huh," she said, feigning disappointment, "…pity."

Shawn raised both eyebrows, shocked, before following.

Retired General Thomas O'Hara arrived in the Santa Barbara Police station. The thin ears under his gray hair picked up scraps of conversation: "Interrogation room two isn't cleared to be used, yet; the intercom still has that broadcasting glitch…" "You might want to try the coffee; Shawn made it today, and it rocks!" The warm, keen brown eyes were taking in his surroundings as he passed; there was a bulletin board with pictures half-hidden in a conference room where the chief was talking to a few criminologists. At least two suspects were resisting as they passed on their way to central booking. But what Thomas was searching for eluded him.

He was looking for one person in particular: his little girl, Juliet O'Hara. He was phenomenally proud of her; she was a junior detective, had passed the detective's exam with flying colors, and was as sharp as they came.

So, he wondered, why couldn't he find her?

She was nowhere to be seen, when her blonde hair would have been unmistakable in the bull pen.

From the photographs she'd sent the family, Thomas could spot her desk (spick and span, just as she'd been taught as a girl). He could also see a man leaning against the wood, intensively reading a police report that he'd picked up from Detective O'Hara's 'out' tray.

This, the retired general reasoned, must be the detective that his wife mentioned. He looked the part- a typical 'Philip Marlowe' tough guy, with salt and pepper hair, shoulder-holsters on either arm, and his jacket missing. O'Hara frowned; his wife had laid rather obvious hints that Juliet was seeing Spencer, the detective. This man did not look at all Juliet's type, not to mention that he was not what she needed. The person reading the report was clearly not the person to help Juliet relax. He looked familiar, though…had he seen that stony face in the paper?

O'Hara had tried to do research before arriving, but his PC at home was ancient, and did not allow him to access the pictures on the web, as would the new 'laptop' his children had been bugging him to get. For lack of a better idea, the General approached Juliet's desk, and addressed the man. "You're Shawn Spencer?"

The man looked up, his piercing blue eyes filled with annoyance. "Excuse me?" He demanded, closing the file slowly.

"Are you Shawn Spencer?" Thomas repeated clearly, un-rattled by the simple act that had obviously been perfected to drive lesser men away.

"_Hell_, no!"the man answered in equally clear distaste and length. "I'm head detective Carlton Lassiter. Who the hell are you? And why are you in my police station?"

It hit Thomas why the man seemed familiar; he'd seen him at Christmas. The man had been just as cold, just as hard-nosed then. This, then, wasn't the detective. "I'm-" O'Hara was interrupted as two people entered the bull-pen. A man in a polo and jeans was holding the door for Juliet. Both were carrying a box of what was unmistakably files, both were grinning at each other.

"O'Hara!" Lassiter shouted, "_Why_ is Spencer in the possession of classified police information!?"

The two looked up, and the scruffy-looking man raised his eyebrows as he took in the visitor. "Jules," he said quietly, "Why don't you hand me that box and go greet your father?"

"Thanks," she told him with a grateful grin, carefully stacking her load on top of his.

"Really, Lassie," Shawn spoke up as Juliet advanced, "I've been scrutinized the whole time!"

Juliet, meanwhile, had come up to her father. "Hey, dad," she greeted him with a broad smile and a hug. "You came early!"

"Hey, Juliet," he answered her greeting, "How's my favorite detective?"

She opened her mouth, but then glanced behind her suspiciously at Shawn, who shrugged innocently, before smiling at her father again. "Great, daddy."

General O'Hara looked down as Spencer put the boxes on the corner of Juliet's desk. "What's with the files?"

Before Juliet could answer, Shawn spoke up. "Jules just solved a cold case," he answered, straightening. "These are the pertaining pieces of the investigation… actually, they're the rest of the files. The evidence is still in the locker."

Thomas was impressed, and turned to his daughter. "Really?" He knew his eyes were sparkling; they always did when Juliet made him proud.

Detective O'Hara blushed. "Actually, Dad," she began, "Shawn is exaggerating. I started working on the case, but credit really goes to him; I was stumped, and he figured it out. I wouldn't have been able to get it… at least, not so quickly."

"Oh, come on, Jules," Shawn objected, clearly embarrassed that she didn't take the credit he offered, "You would have cracked it. I butted in because you were looking upset and I thought I could help nudge things along; life's too short to be frustrated."

Lassiter snorted and stared. "You've gotta be kidding me." The trio turned to the head detective. "What, Spencer, it's not enough that you poach our normal cases, now you're on cold case files?"

"I was just helping!" the younger man objected.

"Well, quit it, Spencer," Lassiter snapped rudely back.

Shawn winced, and it was clear to the general that Spencer was trying to end the spectacle as soon as possible, for Juliet's sake. The un-shaven man smiled absent-mindedly and shrugged. "Two words, Lassie: Blue. Sedan."

Lassiter immediately quit talking and sat down at his desk.

"Blue sedan?" Juliet questioned, confused.

"Just reminding Lassie not to turn down help that's cheerfully offered, Jules," Shawn responded with a small smile. He cleared his throat. "Ah, Mr. O'Hara, we haven't actually met. I'm Shawn Spencer." He extended his hand with a confident smile.

"I know who you are" O'Hara answered, shaking hands. "Google has a lot to say about you, Mr. Spencer… including the statement that you're apparently psychic."

Shawn cleared his throat, uncomfortable again. "Please, call me Shawn."

Juliet raised an eyebrow at her father. "You Googled him?"

"I was curious," he tilted his head. "He doesn't look anything like I pictured."

"Daddy," she chided him, "Preconceived notions don't work… especially not with Shawn."

The object of the conversation cleared his throat. "Jules," he said quickly, "Karen's gonna call us in, soon."

"On what?" Jules frowned.

"On a case," Shawn responded in an 'of course' tone, grinning. He raised an eyebrow, closed his eyes, and held his hands up. His fingers wriggled, and the motion seemed to translate up his arms, undulating.

"Not enough coffee this morning, Shawn?" O'Hara suggested lightly, amused by the psychic's antics.

"I'm getting…" Shawn said, beginning to shake, "Rippples... waves... a pond… thrashing…" His movements became violent, and somehow morphed into a ghandi-like pose, still keeping his eyes shut. "Flowers?" He frowned as if confused. "And fish…" he shook his head. "Colors… red… black… the East… Goldfish in fancy dress…" he stopped abruptly, opened his eyes, and spoke directly to Juliet. "You have no idea how weird it is to see a goldfish in a tuxedo."

Thomas's daughter giggled, inspiring a wink from Shawn.

"Fancy goldfish… You're talking koi?" The general asked, one eyebrow up. He was impressed against his will. "That's more specific than most psychics are. What kind of investigation is it?"

"Wrongful death," Interim Chief Karen Vick announced, entering the bull pen from her office. "Mr. Spencer, I don't seem to remember calling you."

Before Shawn could answer, Juliet spoke up. "He was helping me, Chief Vick. Shawn was instrumental in closing a cold case."

"Hence the files," Shawn added quickly, gesturing to the boxes on Jules's desk. "_I_ wanted to gift-wrap them and leave them on your desk. Jules thought that might be a _teensy_ bit over the top, and you'd be happy with just the files." He pulled a false pensive face as he continued, "I believe my plan was to put a gift bow on top of the boxes- probably something shiny." His dead-pan humor caused Juliet to turn away, hiding a grin.

O'Hara caught both his daughter's reaction and the twinkle in Shawn's eye when Juliet tried not to laugh. It told him a great deal about the relationship between the two, even if _they_ were oblivious.

During their short acquaintance, Thomas O'Hara also noted a few facts specifically about Shawn. The General wasn't an idiot. He knew there were real and fake psychics, and real psychics were tapping into a dangerous power. He also knew Shawn was bringing 'faking it' to a whole new level. O'Hara had seen, as Shawn did, a bulletin board with pictures and notes posted all over it… most importantly, there was a picture of a lily pond. It wasn't until a uniformed policeman that Shawn greeted as 'Buzz!' wheeled in the display that O'Hara took in the photo of a corpse. He hadn't noticed that on his precursory glance. And he had passed right by it. The board had been several yards away, only accessible to Spencer's peripheral vision. The kid was good.

Only when it was close did O'Hara notice the shadows of koi in the pond, the glistening and wet pavement around the edge of the water, and the victim's bloated face. The general felt his stomach seize up and forced himself to regain control of his lunch.

"Victim's name was Alec Mesmet, MD. Blood alcohol was high," Vick was saying, glancing at the preliminary toxicology report in her folder. "Which could indicate that he tripped, hit his head, and drowned, still making it wrongful death because the barman didn't cut him off. Besides that-"

"Don't bother releasing that," Shawn interrupted authoritatively, examining the board. "This was murder." When everyone stared at him, he seemed to catch himself. The psychic turned around to face the others. He smiled awkwardly, almost nervously, and pointed over his shoulder at the board. "What? The… the spirits.. told me…" He concluded weakly with a shrug.

The chief seemed to take his opinion into account, then return to her office. Lassiter rolled his eyes, and headed right back to his desk for a headache cure. Juliet was the only one, the General noted, who took him seriously. She raised an eyebrow, and tilted her head.

General Thomas O'Hara raised an eyebrow of his own. Clearly, his daughter knew something he didn't. She didn't blindly put her faith in anyone, and this Shawn had somehow earned hers.

His fatherly instincts were aroused, and he made a mental note to let the young man know that he still had his service revolver. After all, it wasn't every day that his Juliet took such a shine to someone… especially not in the capacity that her mother assumed.


	3. How to Grill a Psychic

General O'Hara (retired) surreptitiously listened as Juliet gave directions to the officer that Spencer had referred to as 'Buzz' while her partner chewed out the pseudo-psychic… who was staring at the mobile bulletin board with the details of the case on it. The Chief, meanwhile, was ignoring Lassiter as she asked Shawn why he believed the case was a murder. Spencer, when addressed by the chief, did an about-face, and (with what Thomas suspected was the psychic's version of respect) answered Karen Vick.

The General held a hand over his mouth to hide a smile; he knew the look on Shawn's face. He'd sported it himself more than once… and it annoyed his wife to no end when he wore it before Christmas. The young man knew something; of that, O'Hara was sure.

Despite his queasy stomach in the face of murder, the General looked once more at the images of the death. There had to be something there that Shawn picked up on. He examined the way the body lay- prone, looking for signs of strangulation around the swollen neck, anything that would explain Spencer's statement.

"Lassie, point number one," Thomas overheard Spencer say authoritatively, "I only get heebie-jeebies around the boogey man; he cheats at cards. Point number two, I need to go to the scene, and psychically read what's there... come on…" when Detective Lassiter crossed his arms over his chest and glowered with an unusually high amount of ire, Shawn sighed. "Chief?"

"Lassiter, we might as well hear what he has to say," Chief Vick stated with a shrug. Lassiter gaped at her for a split-second before skulking off towards the coffee machine. She turned to glare at her department psychic, "But let's get one thing straight. In no manner will you compromise the investigation; not by talking to the press, not by touching any evidence-"

"Chief," Shawn objected, "the FBI's psychic did that; I had nothing to do with compromising evidence in that investigation-"

"Regardless," she spoke over him, "my rule stands. Also… try to stay out of my chief detective's hair on this case, alright?"

"Chief, with all due respect, I never stay out of Lassiter's hair. In fact, I consider it an art form to stay in his hair…but purely in a metaphorical sense; he-"

"WHO TOOK THE LAST CUP OF COFFEE?!" Lassiter's voice rang out in outrage over the sounds of the station.

Shawn, who had turned his head to see what the commotion was, raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That is a cry for decaf…" He turned back to the chief. "Chief, if you don't mind my asking, do you know what-"

"He ran into his ex-wife during lunch."

"Ah," Shawn commiserated. "But that wouldn't-"

"She was on a date."

Shawn frowned, realizing that his choices in the situation were rapidly diminishing. "Yeah, what would definitely snap a guy's rubber band."

"So just… don't antagonize him any more than absolutely necessary, alright?"

Shawn mock-saluted the Chief. "You got it, Chief."

Karen turned and walked towards her office, and Shawn glanced back at the graying detective with a wince. "Ouch…" he whispered, shaking his head.

"Shawn!" Juliet called, walking towards him. The psychic turned immediately with a smile. "We're going to the crime scene, you coming?" When Shawn raised his eyebrows, she added, "You can ride along."

"Um…" he answered, thinking. "Sure, I'll follow in a minute."

"Juliet," O'Hara spoke to his daughter, "May I ask why you need to go to the scene? You have the evidence-"

"Photographs, Dad," Juliet answered. "Someone snapped the photo with their cell phone and sent it in when reporting the crime online."

"So how did you know who the victim was?"

"His name was reported, too."

"So… how did he get out of the water?"

"The guy who reported it performed CPR, after he dragged the victim out of the lily pond."

"He performed CPR on a corpse? Then what? He went through his wallet?"

Juliet shrugged. "At least he tried… where's Shawn?"

"I'm not sure…" General O'Hara looked around for the psychic, who had disappeared.

Juliet stood on her tip-toes, surveying the bull-pen for Shawn's distinctive hair.

"Could he have gone down to the interrogation rooms, or the evidence room?" O'Hara suggested, surprised that Spencer was capable of eluding his senses… a trait that didn't occur often.

"No…" she frowned. "He doesn't have the keys…" She touched a finger to her lips, thinking. She smirked, then shouted, "Marco!"

Immediately, Shawn's voice came from the Chief's office, "Polo!"

Thomas stared at his daughter.

Juliet shrugged. "It was either that or Olly-olly-oxenfree." She made her way to the Chief's office, and knocked on the door. "Shawn, you coming?"

General O'Hara waited by the door frame, just out of sight.

"Yeah," Shawn agreed, heading towards the door. "Just gotta grab my helmet."

"Mr. Spencer," Chief Vick said, causing the pseudo-psychic to pause, "I mean it."

"Absolutely."

Shawn grabbed his motorcycle helmet off of Juliet's desk before the Chief's voice could be heard, "That wasn't a yes, Mr. Spencer!"

The fake psychic jogged back to Karen's office, and poked his head in the door. "Chief, have I ever disappointed you?"When the chief raised her eyebrows, he added, "Don't answer that. What I meant was, absolutely, I'll follow your instructions to the letter."

"Do I have to write them out for you?"

"…nah. I'm good."

"Just… try, alright?"

"I'll do my best, Chief."

"Thank you… now, get going; we have a case to crack."

"Yes, Ma'am. On my way."

O'Hara raised his eyebrows as Spencer jogged past him. "So," he spoke up, "what did the chief want?"

Spencer skidded to a halt. "Hm? Oh, General, hi. Um…I wanted to beg off an assignment, she wouldn't let me."

O'Hara smirked, and nodded to the exit. "Come on; crime scene's waiting…" he intentionally avoided looking at the bulletin-board. "Do you think the corpse is still going to be there? Wouldn't the coroner have removed it?" Thomas changed the subject.

"Nah; Jules and Lassiter are going to want to see the details with the victim in place."

"What made you say that this case was murder?"

Shawn glanced side-ways at the General. "Sir… you don't trust me, do you?"

"I think I'll reserve my opinion until I see you in action."

That, apparently, struck a nerve in the SBPD's resident 'psychic', who became mildly agitated. "You've pretty much seen the action, General. It doesn't get much more than that."

"So why do you need to go to the crime scene?"

Shawn chuckled nervously. "Pretty much more of the same stuff, sir. Getting a reading…"

"Observing," Thomas interjected, "analysis of the information, presentation of a strong theory based on that…"

"Spirits help, sir," Shawn stated, his eyes narrowed slightly.

"What type of spirits?"

"…helpful ones, restless ones…pretty much the ones that tell me things."

"So you have no means of deciding what spirits are telling the truth and which ones are lying."

"…I've only had accurate information from my sources, sir."

"So what will you do when they lie, Mr. Spencer?"

Shawn frowned, and went for the direct approach. "I'm getting a lot of 'not trusting you' vibe, General. Is there any reason you don't like me?"

"I never said I don't like you, Mr. Spencer. But I don't trust a person that doesn't take responsibility for his own assertions. It's a policy of mine." The General kept a close eye on Spencer's reactions, wondering if the man understood the double-meaning.

Shawn smiled slightly, and Thomas knew that the game was on. "I always take responsibility for my assertions, sir." Spencer held the door to the parking lot open for Juliet's father. "But my responsibility has been ignored before, so I've taken to letting people think whatever they want."

General O'Hara mirrored Spencer's smile as he walked out onto the asphalt. "Mr. Spencer, a man is only as good as his word. I just want my answers from a good, responsible person that I can trust."

"Accept no substitutes," Shawn responded in agreement.

"Then I have one question," O'Hara stated, smiling. "Butter or margarine?"

"General," Shawn said, a chuckle on his lips, "Do I look tubby to you?"

O'Hara nodded once, and headed towards Juliet's squad car, which already had the two detectives in the front seat.

Shawn frowned before putting his helmet on.

He had intended a simple pun on the phrase, a tub of margarine, inferring that he was honest… but he realized that Juliet's father might have interpreted that as he preferred a healthier 'margarine' lifestyle…

"Note to self," he muttered, pulling down the face-guard, "Do not banter with people who are used to politicians…" He kick-started his motorbike, "They can be vague and confusing."

Shawn followed the squad car out of the parking lot, making sure to signal. The last thing he needed was for Lassiter to write him up for a moving violation in front of Juliet's dad.

"No way in Hell," he assured himself. "I'm not going to screw up again, not in front of Jules's father." He pulled to a stop next to Juliet's window. He flipped up his visor, winked at her, and burned rubber as soon as the light turned green. "Catch me if you can," he said, flipping the plastic closed.


	4. Crime Scene Cadenza

**A/N:Hi, all! Sorry it's taken so long for an update; my life has been in upheaval for the last… well, year, pretty much.**

**A slight note on this chapter: Shawn, as you'll recall, has just been admonished by Chief Vick to go easy on Lassiter; while his actions here are slightly out of character, they're in line with Karen's request. And yes, the peripheral characters have more lines than usual in the show… **_**mea culpa**_**.**

**Thank you for your patience, and many thanks to everyone who reviewed…and especially to Vaapad; your prompt was inspirational.-Coeur**

General O'Hara staggered out of the back of the police car soon after it screeched to a halt in front of the cordoned-off crime scene. His knees were weak as he made his way to the curb and collapsed. The overcast sky wasn't helping his pallor.

Juliet quickly opened her door, and bolted with a bit more poise. "Carlton," she demanded of her partner, "was it really necessary to use the siren all the way here?"

"I would have been fine," the general spoke up from the curb, "with a minor delay."

Lassiter frowned and slammed his car door shut. "No! Evidence is deteriorating as we speak; time is of the essence!"

Juliet snorted, and shook her head. "Fine. But next time you plan on going 60mph down a 35mph stretch of road, it had better be when there's a high speed chase going on."

Carlton shrugged. "Fine, if you want to be second banana to a psychic."

The General stared at Lassiter. "This was about Spencer?" He gave in incredulous laugh. "You decided to play Evil Knievel because you wanted to win a race against the department psychic?" He shook his head, and stood, following Juliet to the crime scene, muttering darkly about contests and rulers causing heart attacks.

Carlton fumed silently, locking the car behind him. He was mollified and slightly pleased with himself as he looked around, knowing that he'd beat Shawn to the scene. Pulling on latex gloves, he called to the CSU team, "What do we got?"

Juliet was offering her father a spare set of gloves when the General paused, glanced at the body, and offered to go on a coffee run. Lassiter ignored this, and knelt over the corpse of the victim.

"Looks like a drowning death," he said, frowning.

"There's no foam around the mouth," Juliet objected. "Maybe Shawn was right."

The coroner on-scene perked up at the mention of the psychic's name. "Spencer thought it wasn't drowning?"

Juliet shrugged. "He just said it was murder."

"O'Hara," Lassiter objected, "murder by drowning is not that conventional."

"Actually," the coroner said, sitting back on her haunches, "that's not entirely true. There was a group of serial killing nurses in Austria, in the '80s… they killed between 49 and 300 elderly patients. Their preferred method was drowning them."

"That's a really big range," Juliet objected. "They're not sure?"

"The victims were elderly," the ME responded. "Fluid build-up isn't uncommon. And they're not sure because after they were caught… well, embalming isn't really popular in Germany. Most of the suspected victims were too decomposed to be sure."

Juliet made a face. "Eew."

Lassiter asked, kneeling next to the pond, "What, the drowning, the number of victims, or the decomposition?"

"Pick one," she suggested, grimacing.

"Hello!" a familiar voice called over to them.

Juliet spun around to see Shawn ducking under the crime scene tape.

"Spencer!" Lassiter shouted in disbelief before Juliet could do more than smile in greeting, "How the Hell did you get here so fast?"

Shawn shrugged. "You guys took the long way..." he opened his mouth as if to say more, but shut it and turned to Juliet. "Hey, Jules! You know, I saw the General speed-walking away. Gotta hand it to him, for a guy his age, he's pretty spry… but he did look a little green around the gills."

Juliet nodded, and gestured to the bloated corpse. "Can you blame him? He doesn't see corpses this long after death."

Shawn grimaced. "Yeah. Gross." He frowned. "Jules, you wouldn't happen to have a spare pair of latex-"

Before he could say anything more, she held out the pair of gloves her father had declined. "Please say you meant gloves."

"I meant gloves…" he agreed, slipping on the nitrile gauntlets. "But if you had something else, I wouldn't object."

Juliet glared at him before joining Lassiter at the body and addressing the Coroner. "So, what do you think did him in?"

Shawn looked around, and spoke up. "Definitely murder." He was trying his best to not get under Lassie's skin, but it was difficult… still, instead of going for the big reveal, he figured he'd give the man a break for once, and make his process almost transparent.

The coroner looked up. "How sure are you?" she asked, frowning. "I still need to examine the body, and the protocols change."

"Concrete."

"Why?" Juliet asked, curious.

"No, concrete, Jules," Shawn answered, gesturing about 10 yards to her left. "The CSU hasn't processed the pond yet, and unless someone was fish-tickling next to our bloated friend…" he caught a suspicious glare from Lassiter, and changed tactics. "The spirits are telling me that concrete grows grass, not algae." He strode over to one of the CSU team and requested fluorescein, and a pair of tinted glasses.

Amused, the team provided him the equipment with a warning not to get it near his eyes. Shawn waved them off, and approached an area. He started spraying, and waved Juliet over. She accepted when he offered her the glasses, and frowned. "That's not blood, is it?"

He shook his head. "That would be algae, Jules. Fluorescein and Luminol both react to other stuff—blood, yes, but bleach, algae… This stuff was from the pond."

"The koi ate most of that," she objected.

"Not the stuff near the pump," he answered, pointing it out.

"According to the original photos," Juliet said, frowning, "the victim was closer to the edge than that."

The CSU frowned. "Those traces could have been there for weeks."

"He's right, Shawn," Juliet pointed out. "Lumiol and fluorescein can detect residues that have been present for years."

"I would agree," he answered, "but for one thing… have you noticed an upswing in gang activity lately, Jules?"

She frowned. "That's another division, Shawn… but yes."

"Aaand what initiative did the mayor just push through city counsel?"

Juliet's jaw dropped slightly. "Cleaning up Santa Barbara…"

Shawn nodded. "They're power-washing everything touristey that looks like a gang was there." He pointed out a few tags at the edge of the sidewalk around the pond. "This pond was power-washed clean two days ago."

The CSU that handed him the fluorescein looked absolutely crest-fallen. "All that evidence…"

"So the prints were there less than two days." She looked down again through the glasses. "Can't discern anything about size from it, but that's a footprint pattern."

Shawn called back to the ME, "Hey, how long you think our vic's been in the water?"

"Hard to tell," she answered, "not more than a day, day and a half. Liver temp is inconclusive, with the water bath."

"But you guys got BAC already?" Lassiter asked, confused. "What'd you do, breathalyze the CPR?"

The ME snorted and did not deign to respond.

Shawn turned to Juliet. "Did Lassie just make a joke?"

She shrugged. "Hard to say. Shawn, are you getting anything else?"

"Maybe, but the spirits are strangely whispering; can't be sure…" He glanced at the body, taking in the ante-mortem gash on the head, the faint red line on the neck, the ID badge still in the front coat pocket that proclaimed the victim an MD at the VA clinic. Then there were faint red lines around the victim's fist, encircling fingers, with nothing to explain them.

Shawn backed up slightly, looking around for a cord, a choker, a necklace, a whip, anything to explain the abrasions. The back of his heels hit the raised edge of the pond just as his cell phone chimed. He juggled the flourescein briefly before tugging the cellular abruptly out of his jeans pocket. It was a text from Gus: Am SO bored… convention not over soon enough… got a case, yet?

As he looked down at the screen, his focus drifted to the cement. Shawn noted a faint trace of green on the walk. He sprayed the indicator over the area, and looked over to Detective O'Hara, who still sported the bright orange visors over her eyes. "Hey, Jules? What do you see?"

"From this angle? Here," she tossed him the glasses, which he caught like a football, cradling them in his arms. It took some manipulation to avoid dropping anything while affixing the glasses, but he could tell the drop pattern had a spatter pattern, and no directional indicators; this was more of a splash than a drip.

"Okay… hm… here's what I believe happened… I'll try to re-enact the crime. Hey, Lassie-face? Would you mind giving me a hand with this?"

Lassiter smirked. Shawn couldn't help but think, "This is not good…" and remembered what the chief told him about how Lassiter's day had been. The smirk definitely did not bode well.

"Love to," the detective answered, and without raising himself off his haunches, he pushed the pseudo-psychic into the pond.

After a few mid-air gyrations, Shawn ended up holding the cell triumphantly above water-level as far as it would go, and the luminol bottle and glasses only slightly lower… unfortunately, this caused his head and torso to completely submerge for a few seconds.

Juliet glared menacingly at her senior partner before rushing to the edge of the water. Just as he broke the surface, she exclaimed, "Shawn, are you alright?" She extended her hand out as far as she could reach, offering help.

Spencer sputtered a bit, but nodded. "Yeah… Jeff Daniels was right; it does taste like fish… pfft!" he tried to exhale water out of his nose and mouth at the same time.

Juliet grabbed his extended wrist, and yanked him closer to dry land.

"Lassiter," she was about to upbraid her partner when Shawn cut her off.

"'S'alright, Jules." He tried exhaling forcibly again, "Everybody has one of those days, and today it's Lassie's." The sentence was punctuated by snorts as Shawn attempted to rid his nasal passages of water.

"Did you hit your head?" she demanded, aghast.

"No, but this does prove one thing," he answered. "My head didn't get anywhere near the drain pipe, and there weren't any signs of blood or skin on the edge of the pond. However the victim got that knock, it wasn't an accident."

"It could have happened before, and then he got a concussion and drowned," Lassiter posited.

"No sign of clotting," the ME bashed that theory, "and there's nothing else around here to cause this injury."

"So," Shawn continued, letting Juliet help him out of the water and onto the bank, "based on what we know, let's recreate."

"I'll stand in," Juliet volunteered, glaring at Lassiter as she removed her suit jacket. "We've already covered the falling, so let's try this on dry land. Someone pushes him in, or he falls. Fine. But based on the lack of mud on his knees, I'd say he was pushed, right?"

"Okay," Lassiter agreed, standing and crossing his arms across his chest.

"…Shawn, what's that on your shirt?"

The Psychic looked down, half suspecting a joke, and found some string fragment dangling from a button. "Eew. Pond litter."

"Looks like fishing line," she commented, lifting the strand and depositing it in an evidence bag.

"Can't be," Shawn responded. "The string is... what do you call that, dissolving?"

"Actually, it might be," Lassiter interjected. "Some doofus company is coming up with biodegradable fishing line, so the tangles and knots that get thrown away don't kill fish and other wildlife, they just decompose."

"Actually, that sounds pretty neat," Juliet responded. "When I was in Florida, we'd see tangles of line everywhere on the beach."

"But what use is line that degrades when you get it wet?" Lassiter argued. "It's fishing! It's a water sport! The last thing you need is to loose the big one because your line started to get weak!"

"These are koi, though; they're practically pet fish!" She shot back.

"Guys," Shawn broke in, handing the fluorescein back to the tech, "back to the recreation…"

Juliet returned her attention to the psychic, who started speaking again. "So, there's a struggle. Mesmet trips on- what, a koi? A water-lily?- and takes a tumble, hitting his head on the pump."

"Had to be when he was advancing," Juliet stipulated. "The injury was on the front of the skull."

Lassiter concluded, "So he falls forward."

Shawn nodded, and jerked head slightly. " Bam. Stunned."

"All of this could be explained by being drunk, alone, and falling," Lassiter pointed out.

"No," Shawn insisted. "Someone was still there with him. I feel it." He forewent the mention of already highlighted evidence of footprints wading and walking away from the crime scene. "I know, deep in my psychic bones, that however Mesmet came to be in the pond, someone was with him, that someone went in the pond after him, struggled with him, and murdered the MD."

"We have uniforms canvassing the area," Juliet informed him, "to get any information about what happened, who he was with, that sort of thing." She pivoted, asking her partner, "We had them start at the bars, right?"

"And as of now, they all agree he was alone," Carlton informed Shawn smugly.

Juliet turned abruptly with a suggestion for the psychic, but ran into Spencer and accidentally knocked both of them to the ground.

"Why, detective," Spencer flirted up at O'Hara, "you can struggle with me anytime."

Juliet blushed, and pushed herself off the ground – and Shawn- with minimal contact. "Sorry," she apologized quickly, "that's twice today you've been assaulted."

"Again, anytime," he offered with a grin. His phone rang again, and he jumped up. "Guys, gotta take this call…" He headed out of the crime scene. "Mom, hi! …no, no serial killers yet, just a death in a koi pond… actually, the circumstances are kinda fishy…"

Juliet snorted, and shook her head. She looked down at her blouse. "Oh, great, it's all wet…"

The ME finished quickly, and informed the detectives that the body was being removed for autopsy. Lassiter agreed, and began consulting the busy CSU team while Juliet logged in the evidence found on Shawn after his pond adventure.

Suspiciously soon after the body was removed, General O'Hara came up with a smile and a coffee cup extended to Juliet. "Hi, princess," he said. "How'd it go?"

Juliet gave him a glowing report as she pulled on her jacket. Her stomach growled, and in her embarrassment, Juliet blushed. "Sorry, I guess lunch was a few hours ago."

"No problem, it's about dinner time for me. How about letting your dad treat you?"

Juliet looked up at her father and smiled. "I'd like that, Daddy. Thank you." He put his arm around her shoulders, and walked her to a thai restaurant he'd just discovered around the block.


End file.
